Our store won the Reader's Choice Award that they hold in the local newspaper every year. The boss decided to have a fajita buffet at work as a reward for us workers and to be honest, I half way considered calling in sick.
Any more, I don't like eating foods when I don't have a nutritional label to go with it. I do not like having to guess how many calories are in the meal. Should I go hungry the rest of the day to compensate? Did I eat 2,000 calories in that one meal? It's a total crap shoot.
I had two fajitas, as small as I could make them, a bit of rice (white rice, naturally) and two sopapias (with honey, of course). I had one and thought that good enough. I had my taste of pastry. I didn't need another. But that monster in the back of my mind said to me, "But when are you going to eat another sopapia? Will it be another four years?"
So of course, I had to have another. My calorie estimate was around 1300 for that one sitting. I may have over estimated, but better to go over than under, then over eat entirely for the day and not even realize it.
At least tomorrow I can cook my ground turkey. The package gives me all the information I need. I know exactly how many calories I am taking in.
Blunder for the week: I found sugar free, fat free pudding in cheesecake flavor.
It isn't very good. I for one am totally and completely shocked.
(I am never sure if sarcasm can be read or just heard aloud)
Friday, September 23, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Pitiful Puppy
Shawn dropped off Zoe this morning so she could be spayed. He said as they carried her away all he could see was her face staring back at him over the shoulder of a stranger. And she cried and whimpered.
Better Shawn than me. I couldn't have taken that!
Zoe is resting in her "room", being the bathroom that is never used. She seems OK, but sore as she cannot seem to get comfortable. They told me she should be about back to normal tomorrow. Poor little dog. She was mad at me for taking away the food & water last night. She peed three times in 30 minuets just to pay me back.
Shawn and I both feel like big fat meanies.
Better Shawn than me. I couldn't have taken that!
Zoe is resting in her "room", being the bathroom that is never used. She seems OK, but sore as she cannot seem to get comfortable. They told me she should be about back to normal tomorrow. Poor little dog. She was mad at me for taking away the food & water last night. She peed three times in 30 minuets just to pay me back.
Shawn and I both feel like big fat meanies.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Boredom at a Whole New Level
I was so proud of myself yesterday. I went to bed with the number 1300 on my white board. I felt like I'd eaten all night long. It's easy when you eat the right things. Sugar free Jell-O, popcorn, veggies--I DID eat all night long! 1300 calories. I could easily do this every day. It was actually easy yesterday. Easy!
Today was another birthday at work and we got breakfast tacos. I've grown to hate those things. I imagine they taste good, they should be good, but they are not. And usually I sit down to have one or two or three, depending on the leftovers. And I usually feel really bad about it because it didn't even taste good. I imagine a soft fresh made tortilla with spicy sausage and fresh eggs, smothered in real cheddar cheese.
Instead, what you get a greasy tortilla with powdered eggs and what I've come to call "sausage". I'm not sure what it is but you rarely see any stray dogs or cats near the taco shack. Their bacon is actually little chunks of ham and the cheese is nasty, over-processed American Cheese. You know, square cheese.
I didn't even want a taco. It just sounded nasty to me and I was afraid if I ate one it would make me sleepy & I was determined to get out of there early. I did have one. But it was not the very second the bag was placed on the table. It was an hour later. And it wasn't very good. The eggs were weird. The "sausage" was chewy. And thank goodness there was no cheese to scrape off.
I worked hard and fast from the time that I walked through that big back door. We finished early and I clocked out at 12:30 and after working 6.5 hours. Once home, I discovered that everything had already been done. I had done all the chores and there were no groceries to put away. I sorted laundry last night and had washed the dishes. Hmm.
Lucy sat in the head rest of the chair and watched the street in case it might run away. I alternated watching a really boring movie and Zoe. I have to watch Zoe. I watch her to make sure she doesn't pee on the carpet, or eat the individual cheap yarns that make up the carpet. I have to watch her so she doesn't irritate Lucy past her tolerance level. The only time they get along is when the mail arrives and they agree that whoever is on the porch should suffer and die.
I had no to do list. I had no new cool movies to watch. I just watched Zoe. I needed something constructive to do so I uploaded some photos to the 'ol blog and found out that waiting for them to upload is way more boring than what I was doing.
I thought getting off early was what I'd wanted. I had literally prayed for it. And now I'm bored. Although I'd rather be here being bored than at work in the relentless heat. OK then. So what now?
Today was another birthday at work and we got breakfast tacos. I've grown to hate those things. I imagine they taste good, they should be good, but they are not. And usually I sit down to have one or two or three, depending on the leftovers. And I usually feel really bad about it because it didn't even taste good. I imagine a soft fresh made tortilla with spicy sausage and fresh eggs, smothered in real cheddar cheese.
Instead, what you get a greasy tortilla with powdered eggs and what I've come to call "sausage". I'm not sure what it is but you rarely see any stray dogs or cats near the taco shack. Their bacon is actually little chunks of ham and the cheese is nasty, over-processed American Cheese. You know, square cheese.
I didn't even want a taco. It just sounded nasty to me and I was afraid if I ate one it would make me sleepy & I was determined to get out of there early. I did have one. But it was not the very second the bag was placed on the table. It was an hour later. And it wasn't very good. The eggs were weird. The "sausage" was chewy. And thank goodness there was no cheese to scrape off.
I worked hard and fast from the time that I walked through that big back door. We finished early and I clocked out at 12:30 and after working 6.5 hours. Once home, I discovered that everything had already been done. I had done all the chores and there were no groceries to put away. I sorted laundry last night and had washed the dishes. Hmm.
Lucy sat in the head rest of the chair and watched the street in case it might run away. I alternated watching a really boring movie and Zoe. I have to watch Zoe. I watch her to make sure she doesn't pee on the carpet, or eat the individual cheap yarns that make up the carpet. I have to watch her so she doesn't irritate Lucy past her tolerance level. The only time they get along is when the mail arrives and they agree that whoever is on the porch should suffer and die.
I had no to do list. I had no new cool movies to watch. I just watched Zoe. I needed something constructive to do so I uploaded some photos to the 'ol blog and found out that waiting for them to upload is way more boring than what I was doing.
I thought getting off early was what I'd wanted. I had literally prayed for it. And now I'm bored. Although I'd rather be here being bored than at work in the relentless heat. OK then. So what now?
Shutterbug
(Look closely. Zoe is on my butt, using a cheek as a chin rest)
They were beautiful, in layers, even. The top layer moved slowly, the middle seemed to stay put. The lowest layer moved quickly to Waco where the rain always goes and building is usually brought to its knees. I wish I could have captured in digital "film" what the clouds were doing that afternoon. The leaves blew around on the concrete and it sounded like rain falling from Heaven. You could almost smell it in the clean air.
It did not rain.
Couple weeks ago, I peeled up my toenail. Not on purpose, of course. Why would anyone do that on purpose? I don't have any juicy information for anyone. No, I stupidly opened a door over my foot and it lifted the nail from the flesh that it grew from. It's much better now, thank you.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
One Fourteen
"How much you weigh? About One Fifteen?" a coworker asked this as I stepped on the digital scale at work, meant for weighing bulk orders for customers. The number read 114.
"One Fourteen," I replied. "But I think it's wrong. My pants are too tight for one fourteen." I was after all, up a notch on my already stretched out belt. (I hated that. Two weeks ago I was one a good notch of my belt. And I moved up.)
I weighed 114 first thing in the morning too. That's important to know because at work, I'd just been to the bathroom. I'd been constipated all week, probably from my happy binge over Labor Day weekend. At work, it suddenly hit me and I don't mean to be crude, but it was a lot. I figured I'd lost at least a pound, maybe two just by using the bathroom.
And there the number sat. One Fourteen.
Later that afternoon I took Zoe for her first round of big girl shots. The vet lined up three needles saying, "You're about to become a teenager!"
Two hours later Zoe was hurting pretty badly. She was lethargic and favoring her right side terribly. I picked her up to place her on the couch next to me and she cried that horrible noise. It starts out like a "Heh," but has high pitched under tones and a heavy breath behind it. I remember it so well from Prissy's last days. If I even accidentally brushed my hand against her back, she cried out. Then I cried, telling her that I was sorry, over and over.
I spent a few hours crying over her, trying not to cry, trying to hide it. Eventually Shawn wrapped me in his arms as I spilled my guts to him.
"I don't mean to be silly. I know she's OK but it's that awful cry, that awful noise. It brings back so much and I just can't listen to it; I can't hear it! I love her so much; I don't wanna see her hurting!"
It brought back WAY too many memories that are only months old. It was too soon for me to hear that painful cry and it truly broke my heart all over again. Towards late evening, it was clear Zoe was feeling a little better. She seemed sleepy but was biting gently at my hands and chomping down on Shawn's. I was finally hungry and not wanting to cut, cook, fix, or at all involve myself into making something to eat, I grabbed one of Shawn's microwave pork sandwiches. It's like a McRib, but with very little sauce and rubbery bread. And it was horrible.
Chalk that up to experience. When I get upset, I put very little thought into what I eat. I may eat whatever I think will make me feel better, or merely whatever is easy. In this case it was both and it just left me disappointed and over my limit for daily calories.
Saturday. It was the same today as I grabbed a box of cereal at the store and ate half of it in one sitting. Even as I took the box to the living room, I KNEW I should have measured it into a bowl. But I didn't. And so I ingested over 700 calories during on TV program. When am I going to learn?
"One Fourteen," I replied. "But I think it's wrong. My pants are too tight for one fourteen." I was after all, up a notch on my already stretched out belt. (I hated that. Two weeks ago I was one a good notch of my belt. And I moved up.)
I weighed 114 first thing in the morning too. That's important to know because at work, I'd just been to the bathroom. I'd been constipated all week, probably from my happy binge over Labor Day weekend. At work, it suddenly hit me and I don't mean to be crude, but it was a lot. I figured I'd lost at least a pound, maybe two just by using the bathroom.
And there the number sat. One Fourteen.
Later that afternoon I took Zoe for her first round of big girl shots. The vet lined up three needles saying, "You're about to become a teenager!"
Two hours later Zoe was hurting pretty badly. She was lethargic and favoring her right side terribly. I picked her up to place her on the couch next to me and she cried that horrible noise. It starts out like a "Heh," but has high pitched under tones and a heavy breath behind it. I remember it so well from Prissy's last days. If I even accidentally brushed my hand against her back, she cried out. Then I cried, telling her that I was sorry, over and over.
I spent a few hours crying over her, trying not to cry, trying to hide it. Eventually Shawn wrapped me in his arms as I spilled my guts to him.
"I don't mean to be silly. I know she's OK but it's that awful cry, that awful noise. It brings back so much and I just can't listen to it; I can't hear it! I love her so much; I don't wanna see her hurting!"
It brought back WAY too many memories that are only months old. It was too soon for me to hear that painful cry and it truly broke my heart all over again. Towards late evening, it was clear Zoe was feeling a little better. She seemed sleepy but was biting gently at my hands and chomping down on Shawn's. I was finally hungry and not wanting to cut, cook, fix, or at all involve myself into making something to eat, I grabbed one of Shawn's microwave pork sandwiches. It's like a McRib, but with very little sauce and rubbery bread. And it was horrible.
Chalk that up to experience. When I get upset, I put very little thought into what I eat. I may eat whatever I think will make me feel better, or merely whatever is easy. In this case it was both and it just left me disappointed and over my limit for daily calories.
Saturday. It was the same today as I grabbed a box of cereal at the store and ate half of it in one sitting. Even as I took the box to the living room, I KNEW I should have measured it into a bowl. But I didn't. And so I ingested over 700 calories during on TV program. When am I going to learn?
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Laboring for Labor Day ...or What Made MIsty Slow Down
4:30 AM Uh. I hate 4:30 AM. God did not create this time of day. The devil created 4:30 AM. I'd gotten spoiled over a three day weekend. I'd much rather prefer to get up a little before the sun and watch the sun come up gradually as the sky changes colors from black to all sorts of things.
4:30 AM only means I have to get up because I have to be somewhere. Early.
The weekend was really wonderful. No, I didn't got out of town or to a fair as everyone might expect. Usually I fear that I'll get bored and become depressed but I did not. I was a little irritated that I was forced to move more slowly due to the fact that I had peeled back a toe nail but I got a little of everything.
I got some chores and errands done, I relaxed and watched movies. I played with my dogs. I ate what I wanted to eat and a lot of it! (And I didn't keep score)
A major reason for my uplifted mood might have something to do with the weather. For the first time in months we were out of one-hundred and something temperatures. And it was so nice! I let Zoe play outside several times a day for as long as I could breathe. The dead grass, trees, bushes, flowers, leaves and everything else that once green has played a major role in my asthma. But the breeze was cool and the air was crisp and the dogs just loved it.
Work, of course has been ultra busy due to the store being closed for a day and all it does is make we wish every weekend could be a three day weekend. I've started back to my strict 1500 calorie plan and I've stuck easily to my veggies and healthy snacks. It's actually been easy being so busy. I rediscovered sugar free strawberry Jell-O and my sweet addiction is satisfied once more.
This past weekend has only got me longing for the week off when Shawn's finishes school. I am actually looking forward to cleaning out my car!
4:30 AM only means I have to get up because I have to be somewhere. Early.
The weekend was really wonderful. No, I didn't got out of town or to a fair as everyone might expect. Usually I fear that I'll get bored and become depressed but I did not. I was a little irritated that I was forced to move more slowly due to the fact that I had peeled back a toe nail but I got a little of everything.
I got some chores and errands done, I relaxed and watched movies. I played with my dogs. I ate what I wanted to eat and a lot of it! (And I didn't keep score)
A major reason for my uplifted mood might have something to do with the weather. For the first time in months we were out of one-hundred and something temperatures. And it was so nice! I let Zoe play outside several times a day for as long as I could breathe. The dead grass, trees, bushes, flowers, leaves and everything else that once green has played a major role in my asthma. But the breeze was cool and the air was crisp and the dogs just loved it.
Work, of course has been ultra busy due to the store being closed for a day and all it does is make we wish every weekend could be a three day weekend. I've started back to my strict 1500 calorie plan and I've stuck easily to my veggies and healthy snacks. It's actually been easy being so busy. I rediscovered sugar free strawberry Jell-O and my sweet addiction is satisfied once more.
This past weekend has only got me longing for the week off when Shawn's finishes school. I am actually looking forward to cleaning out my car!
Monday, September 5, 2011
Purgatory
I was being punished for my behavior the day before. I wasn’t rude outwardly, but inside I wanted to scratch out the eyes of the idiot cashier who apparently thought I was trying to pull a fast one on Wal-Mart with a couple of coupons. And they weren’t even computer printed coupons--I had peeled them from the packages themselves. I wasn’t having a good day and I could not act properly in my mind.
It was 5:30 am on Friday morning. I was looking forward to the long Labor Day weekend for weeks. Three whole days off! I slipped on my flip flops to take the laundry to the car and promptly opened up the front door across my left foot. I fell to my knees and fought the urge to cry as I did, in fact, cry. I hobbled my laundry basket to the car and back again.
In the light, I could see my middle toenail was purple and bleeding. It was completely lifted from the toe itself except at the base where it grew out. I was being punished, I’d decided. From then on, each journey between machines at work, to and from the front counter seemed like miles. My band-aided toe in my loosened sneaker throbbed and I just wanted to go home, even though I kept reminded myself of the many errands I had awaiting me after I clocked out.
“What happened to you?” was the question I was asked first. And once it was asked once, I knew I would hear it at least twelve more times from each of my coworkers, or at least the ones who spoke fluent English. I was asked at the tobacco shop where the clerk I had gotten to know knew specifically which cigarettes Shawn preferred to smoke. I was asked at all sorts of places and got strange pathetic smiles from total strangers as though I had a brace around my back leading up to my neck.
It was telltale sign of weakness and not a soul at work witnessed me cry. At some point I was putting on a sock and winced, my eyes filled with water as I told Shawn I hated to be such a weenie about it. “You’re not a weenie!” he exclaimed. “They do this to torture people with bamboo shoots. If I gave your toe a good thump, you’d tell me everything I needed to know.”
Once home and car unloaded, I contemplated going to Jack in the Box. It was once a secret desire of mine. It was once a favorite treat. I had vicariously tucked away a coupon in my wallet, never intend ding to use it. I got in the car and drove the two miles, got my 1500 calorie snack. I felt like I had deserved it. I had toughed out the day in sneakers, standing on my feet all day. I hauled cartons of soda, limping out of the Family Dollar to the car, after all.
As I ate it, I found that it wasn’t very good. The fries tasted of old, dirty grease and I just kept eating it. It was nasty and I kept eating. Why did I keep eating? I ate that way for the rest of the day. I figured I had blown it so why bother to count?
But I did count. And by the time I went to bed, I had consumed 3000 calories as written on my white board on the fridge. I erased it so I wouldn’t see it the next day.
I had prepared for the long weekend by stocking up on healthy snacks, stuff that was healthy but seemed naughty. I thought I could do well although I a little panic stricken with all the free time in my hands.
By the time I went to bed on Friday, I felt too full. I almost wished I could throw up so I’d feel some relief. I was so sick and so full. Why did I eat so much?
The next day I visited my Aunt Louise for the first time in six months, hung out with my parents as my mom cooked up chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and homemade gravy. I’d eaten very little that morning in preparation for that meal. “Go ahead--EAT!” my mother jabbed from across the table. “I can’t drive on a full stomach and all sleepy, Mom,” I told her. They sent me home with three steaks and the remainder of the potatoes and gravy. Sigh.
I picked up BBQ sandwiches because God knows when I’d be back again and I know how much Shawn loves them. That little grease stained paper bag filled my car with a wonderful aroma, mixing with the fried steak and gravy.
Once it was all in the fridge, panic over came me. There was so much food in the fridge. Chicken from a couple days before, a bag of half eaten Cheetos, steaks, gravy, BBQ….
I decided that I no longer cared. This would be the ending weekend and after this I would get very serious about it all. I even got a pint of ice cream this morning, along with a bottle of Magic Shell. I’ve been eating as if I am trying to gain weight. I’m not proud of it, but I am enjoying my favorite foods, watching my favorite programs on TV and simply enjoying this wonderful weekend.
After all, I've got three months to prepare for Thanksgiving. Maybe by then, I can have my Mom's gravy and enjoy it without feeling guilty.
It was 5:30 am on Friday morning. I was looking forward to the long Labor Day weekend for weeks. Three whole days off! I slipped on my flip flops to take the laundry to the car and promptly opened up the front door across my left foot. I fell to my knees and fought the urge to cry as I did, in fact, cry. I hobbled my laundry basket to the car and back again.
In the light, I could see my middle toenail was purple and bleeding. It was completely lifted from the toe itself except at the base where it grew out. I was being punished, I’d decided. From then on, each journey between machines at work, to and from the front counter seemed like miles. My band-aided toe in my loosened sneaker throbbed and I just wanted to go home, even though I kept reminded myself of the many errands I had awaiting me after I clocked out.
“What happened to you?” was the question I was asked first. And once it was asked once, I knew I would hear it at least twelve more times from each of my coworkers, or at least the ones who spoke fluent English. I was asked at the tobacco shop where the clerk I had gotten to know knew specifically which cigarettes Shawn preferred to smoke. I was asked at all sorts of places and got strange pathetic smiles from total strangers as though I had a brace around my back leading up to my neck.
It was telltale sign of weakness and not a soul at work witnessed me cry. At some point I was putting on a sock and winced, my eyes filled with water as I told Shawn I hated to be such a weenie about it. “You’re not a weenie!” he exclaimed. “They do this to torture people with bamboo shoots. If I gave your toe a good thump, you’d tell me everything I needed to know.”
Once home and car unloaded, I contemplated going to Jack in the Box. It was once a secret desire of mine. It was once a favorite treat. I had vicariously tucked away a coupon in my wallet, never intend ding to use it. I got in the car and drove the two miles, got my 1500 calorie snack. I felt like I had deserved it. I had toughed out the day in sneakers, standing on my feet all day. I hauled cartons of soda, limping out of the Family Dollar to the car, after all.
As I ate it, I found that it wasn’t very good. The fries tasted of old, dirty grease and I just kept eating it. It was nasty and I kept eating. Why did I keep eating? I ate that way for the rest of the day. I figured I had blown it so why bother to count?
But I did count. And by the time I went to bed, I had consumed 3000 calories as written on my white board on the fridge. I erased it so I wouldn’t see it the next day.
I had prepared for the long weekend by stocking up on healthy snacks, stuff that was healthy but seemed naughty. I thought I could do well although I a little panic stricken with all the free time in my hands.
By the time I went to bed on Friday, I felt too full. I almost wished I could throw up so I’d feel some relief. I was so sick and so full. Why did I eat so much?
The next day I visited my Aunt Louise for the first time in six months, hung out with my parents as my mom cooked up chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and homemade gravy. I’d eaten very little that morning in preparation for that meal. “Go ahead--EAT!” my mother jabbed from across the table. “I can’t drive on a full stomach and all sleepy, Mom,” I told her. They sent me home with three steaks and the remainder of the potatoes and gravy. Sigh.
I picked up BBQ sandwiches because God knows when I’d be back again and I know how much Shawn loves them. That little grease stained paper bag filled my car with a wonderful aroma, mixing with the fried steak and gravy.
Once it was all in the fridge, panic over came me. There was so much food in the fridge. Chicken from a couple days before, a bag of half eaten Cheetos, steaks, gravy, BBQ….
I decided that I no longer cared. This would be the ending weekend and after this I would get very serious about it all. I even got a pint of ice cream this morning, along with a bottle of Magic Shell. I’ve been eating as if I am trying to gain weight. I’m not proud of it, but I am enjoying my favorite foods, watching my favorite programs on TV and simply enjoying this wonderful weekend.
After all, I've got three months to prepare for Thanksgiving. Maybe by then, I can have my Mom's gravy and enjoy it without feeling guilty.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Browinie Goodness
I tried the Fiber One 90 calorie brownie today. The individual wrapping appeared very large, but once opened, I quickly discovered the brownie inside was half the size of the package. As if there's not enough wasted plastic in our landfills. My first taste told me it was low calorie. Jello is low calorie. This was....bland.
It reminded me of when I was younger and my mother would bring home these odd cookies and snacks in a green package labeled as Snackwells. Your first bite told you it was totally devoid of fat or sugar, the things that make cookies and cake so desirable. I hated those Snackwells cookies. And now I had a whole box of brownie wanna be's.
There was no chewy center or flaky, crunchy top. There was merely an odd after taste of whatever it is they use to try to make the thing taste good. I miss brownies. I had become jealous of Patti when she told me she'd baked up a pan of the evil chocolate cakes, for everyone to enjoy over the weekend. Patti stopped and froze, rolled her eyes. "I ate the entire pan." She rolled her eyes again.
"Over the weekend?" I asked.
"On Saturday."
My poor mother tried, to instill healthy eating habits without creating a complex. She kept healthful snacks around, but gave us the choice. Dad, on the other hand, ate whatever he damn well pleased with no fear of consequence so there was always plenty of junk food around. I rarely blame my parents for how I am, but in this case, yes I will blame my father for my unhealthy love of Cheetos.
Mom was once borderline anorexic. If she had not stopped what she was doing, she would have quickly spiraled into a frail waif instead of merely appearing thin. She said Dad kept telling her to eat, over and over. She got so sick of hearing him, she finally decided to eat a little. She never got fat again and that was 30 years ago.
My sister and I grew up on quick meals of frozen pizza, mac & cheese from a box, and canned biscuits with gravy. My parents worked so I relied on my sister to cook something that didn't come in the form of a Hot Pocket. My sister is working on the latter part of her thirties and still can't cook, God bless her. My parents did the best they could and when both work, one can faithfully rely on packaged foods to help keep everyone fed.
My mother did cook on the weekends, large farm-style dinners with mashed potatoes, battered & fried meats and gravy. It's not like she never cooked and she felt we deserved a reward type meal for having eaten out of packages for the week. All too often, I rewarded myself a little too much.
And now I am paying for it.
It reminded me of when I was younger and my mother would bring home these odd cookies and snacks in a green package labeled as Snackwells. Your first bite told you it was totally devoid of fat or sugar, the things that make cookies and cake so desirable. I hated those Snackwells cookies. And now I had a whole box of brownie wanna be's.
There was no chewy center or flaky, crunchy top. There was merely an odd after taste of whatever it is they use to try to make the thing taste good. I miss brownies. I had become jealous of Patti when she told me she'd baked up a pan of the evil chocolate cakes, for everyone to enjoy over the weekend. Patti stopped and froze, rolled her eyes. "I ate the entire pan." She rolled her eyes again.
"Over the weekend?" I asked.
"On Saturday."
My poor mother tried, to instill healthy eating habits without creating a complex. She kept healthful snacks around, but gave us the choice. Dad, on the other hand, ate whatever he damn well pleased with no fear of consequence so there was always plenty of junk food around. I rarely blame my parents for how I am, but in this case, yes I will blame my father for my unhealthy love of Cheetos.
Mom was once borderline anorexic. If she had not stopped what she was doing, she would have quickly spiraled into a frail waif instead of merely appearing thin. She said Dad kept telling her to eat, over and over. She got so sick of hearing him, she finally decided to eat a little. She never got fat again and that was 30 years ago.
My sister and I grew up on quick meals of frozen pizza, mac & cheese from a box, and canned biscuits with gravy. My parents worked so I relied on my sister to cook something that didn't come in the form of a Hot Pocket. My sister is working on the latter part of her thirties and still can't cook, God bless her. My parents did the best they could and when both work, one can faithfully rely on packaged foods to help keep everyone fed.
My mother did cook on the weekends, large farm-style dinners with mashed potatoes, battered & fried meats and gravy. It's not like she never cooked and she felt we deserved a reward type meal for having eaten out of packages for the week. All too often, I rewarded myself a little too much.
And now I am paying for it.
Blowing It
7-11 is right next door to my place of work. This is not usually a problem for me because I am so frugal (read: cheap) The manager lets us get free fountain drinks and in return we wash their rugs for free and my co-workers each spend about $2 per day in there. The lottery addicts spend much more per day.
Patti, weighing in at 186, sat munching on an apple. "What's with the donuts?" I asked, after eyeballing a small box on the break table. "They came from 7-11. They just gave them to us," she replied.
In response to this news, I shouted, "CRAP!"
"I know," Patti replied. "I was tempted too."
I sat down and ate one. I've been doing good all week; I deserved it, didn't I? Then I had another. 520 calories, more fat & sugar than I care to have in a single day and I had officially blown it. The plan was to live on healthy food and eat light all week and have a small reward on Saturday. I blew it. I was so disappointed in myself. How could I have done this? I knew how angry I would be if I'd allowed myself to do this so why did I do it?
As far as donuts go, these were not that good. And it was only 10:00. That meant that I would have to seriously control myself for the next eleven hours. It's not so bad in that sense if I blow it in the evening. I go to bed at nine so there's little time to fret about blowing it even more. I sit here, hungry but I will not allow myself to eat. I brushed my teeth so that if I craved something, I would instinctively gravitate away from that something because mixing with the taste of mint would be horrible.
I had a small sandwich a couple hours before the donuts so at 10:00 I'd already met half my day's quota for calories. Could I make it? I wondered. I rarely do anyway. Even when eating healthy good-for-you foods, I usually get up to 1700. That is unacceptable.
I should go out right now & go buy a giant bag of sugar free mints. I hate the taste of mint and it might be the key to controlling myself. Maybe I'll just switch my nicotine gum to mint flavored....
Patti, weighing in at 186, sat munching on an apple. "What's with the donuts?" I asked, after eyeballing a small box on the break table. "They came from 7-11. They just gave them to us," she replied.
In response to this news, I shouted, "CRAP!"
"I know," Patti replied. "I was tempted too."
I sat down and ate one. I've been doing good all week; I deserved it, didn't I? Then I had another. 520 calories, more fat & sugar than I care to have in a single day and I had officially blown it. The plan was to live on healthy food and eat light all week and have a small reward on Saturday. I blew it. I was so disappointed in myself. How could I have done this? I knew how angry I would be if I'd allowed myself to do this so why did I do it?
As far as donuts go, these were not that good. And it was only 10:00. That meant that I would have to seriously control myself for the next eleven hours. It's not so bad in that sense if I blow it in the evening. I go to bed at nine so there's little time to fret about blowing it even more. I sit here, hungry but I will not allow myself to eat. I brushed my teeth so that if I craved something, I would instinctively gravitate away from that something because mixing with the taste of mint would be horrible.
I had a small sandwich a couple hours before the donuts so at 10:00 I'd already met half my day's quota for calories. Could I make it? I wondered. I rarely do anyway. Even when eating healthy good-for-you foods, I usually get up to 1700. That is unacceptable.
I should go out right now & go buy a giant bag of sugar free mints. I hate the taste of mint and it might be the key to controlling myself. Maybe I'll just switch my nicotine gum to mint flavored....
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